Complicated Healing
by Dragon MoonX
Summary: Scabior has always avoided asking for help when he is sick. But ignoring his illness in hopes it will go away on its own has repercussions. And what begins as a simple throat infection soon turns into something far worse for the ailing Snatcher. Part two in a series of four.
1. Chapter 1

**Complicated Healing**

Disclaimer: I'm not J.K. Rowling and I own none of her characters. However the OCs are mine.

A/N: this story was inspired by fhestia and her story Suffering Silently.

To fhestia, thank you for your inspiration and your wonderful stories. This is my tribute to you, for you will always be one of the best.

_This story is part two in a series of four known as Scabior's Rose - In Sickness and In Health._  
_The others are, in order, Love's Healing Touch, Fevers &amp; Fears, and Night of Silence._

* * *

Scabior had never been one to complain about things when he wasn't feeling well. He had a strong, resilient nature, and he wasn't the type of man who turned into a baby every time he caught a case of the sniffles. Therefore when the head Snatcher woke up one morning feeling an uncomfortable tickle in the back of his throat, he decided that the best thing to do was ignore it.

He continued to ignore it as he went about his day, tracking muggleborns through the forest, capturing a few of them and bringing them in to the ministry.

He ignored the somewhat painful sting he felt whenever he swallowed a mouthful of food that evening at dinner. And as he was going to bed that night, snuggling up close to his wife Draconius as she slept peacefully beside him, he tried not to think about how sore his throat felt.

'It's probably nothing', he told himself. After all he'd been through this enough times to know that illnesses like this, however frequent they occurred, often went away on their own in a few days.

The next morning when he awoke, Scabior noticed that his throat hurt worse than it did the day before. He was also beginning to feel slightly feverish, but decided to keep quiet about it. After all it was only a minor throat irritation. Nothing the leader of the Snatchers couldn't handle.

Scabior made his way to the bathroom to wash and dress himself before heading out. After brushing his teeth and tying his hair back in a loosely braided ponytail, Scabior paused in front of the mirror over the bathroom sink. He decided to take a look at his throat to see if this minor irritation was worse than he'd first thought.

Opening his mouth and gazing into the mirror, he saw that his throat was somewhat red and inflamed. He knew this wasn't good, as he had a habit of suffering from recurring throat infections.

A brief chill passed over him and he shivered, pulling his jacket around him for warmth.

'I'm not getting sick,' he thought, trying his best to convince himself that everything would be fine. 'I refuse to get sick. Not again. Not now.'

As the days passed Scabior's pain continued to intensify. His throat burned worse than ever, with the most severe pain concentrated on the right side. The left side of his throat didn't hurt half as bad as the right. And to make matters worse he had also developed an earache on the right side as well.

Scabior sat by the campfire one morning, muttering obscenities under his breath, his head tilted to the side as he rubbed his right ear. He couldn't understand why everything seemed to be gravitating towards the right side of his body.

"Something wrong, sir?"

Scabior looked up as he heard the sound of one of his Snatchers addressing him from across the campfire.

"Of course not," Scabior spat irritably, his normally heavy accent sounding thicker than usual. "Everything is perfectly fine. My ear itches is all," he lied.

Scabior's wife, Draconius Rose, had noticed the unusual thickness of her husband's speech. He had been drinking quite a bit lately, so perhaps the change in his voice simply meant that he was a little drunk.

Alcohol was Scabior's go to whenever he was feeling under the weather, and Draconius knew that. He'd been known to self medicate himself with a glass or two (or four) of brandy in the morning, using alcohol as a means of taking his mind off whatever pain or illness he was experiencing at the time.

But as his health continued to decline, Scabior soon found himself feeling too sick to have much of an interest in any sort of food or drink. A general sense of malaise settled over him, and the increasingly worsening right sided throat pain was making it difficult for him to swallow any substance at all, including his own saliva.

Eventually he reached a point where he could no longer eat. His throat had nearly closed up on him due to the painful enlargement of his tonsils. Any food he ate would stick in his throat, getting caught on his tonsils when he tried to swallow. If Scabior ate too fast he would start to choke. Even liquids went down rough, causing him such intense pain he could barely drink a glass of water.

This caused a rather unpleasant incident in front of his men one evening when Scabior tried forcing himself to drink some water. He was beginning to feel feverish, and thirst was becoming a problem as his ability to swallow was reduced due to the amount of pain he was in.

Scabior took a tentative sip, feeling the water pool against the back of his throat. He tried swallowing, forcing a trickle of liquid down his throat. He managed to get nearly half a glass of water down before the pain and swelling caused him to choke.

Greyback thumped him on the back as he coughed and gasped, fighting to draw air into his lungs.

Scabior noticed his wife was looking at him with concern as he bent over double, his long hair falling forward across his face.

"I'm alright," he gasped, still trying to catch his breath. But Draconius didn't seem convinced.

Scabior held his throat, tugging on his scarf until he pulled the plaid material away from his neck. He inhaled several deep breaths, his throat hurting worse than ever. He didn't want to ask his wife for help, and he turned away, avoiding her gaze as she began to question him.

"Scabior, are you sure you're okay?"

"Fine," he said, the words grating out harshly against his sore throat. "I'm fine, love."

"You don't sound like it."

Scabior coughed again, his grey-blue eyes watering from pain. He couldn't speak even if he wanted to, and he motioned to her with a wave of his hand to back off and leave him alone. Though by now everyone in camp was staring at him.

Another incident occurred one morning when he tried to stand and suddenly became dizzy. He slipped off the log he was sitting on by the campfire. His men turned their heads to look at him as he lay sprawled on his back on the ground, which only served to further increase his annoyance.

He opened his mouth to tell them off for staring at him, but all that came out was something halfway between a hoarse croak and a strangled whisper. Scabior's only saving grace was the half empty bottle of booze that was on the ground by his left foot. He'd been drinking that morning, taking tiny sips to prevent himself from having another choking fit. It was enough to make most of his men think he was in the early stages of getting drunk.

The dizziness continued, making it difficult for him to walk or stand. When he went out to track down their latest target muggleborn and found her by a stream in the woods, he couldn't keep up with the rest of his men. He tried running with them through the woods. But he was short of breath and too dizzy to walk let alone run.

It felt as though he couldn't breathe. Scabior bent over with one hand on the trunk of a nearby redwood, holding himself upright as waves of dizziness continued to wash over him. He gasped and struggled to catch his breath. But his throat was so swollen he could hardly draw enough air into his lungs.

The ground beneath him seemed to undulate and sway, and he clung to the tree with both hands, his sight swimming as he felt the world spin around him. He was getting lightheaded. Though whether it was from hunger, dehydration or lack of oxygen he couldn't tell.

This wasn't good. Something was very wrong and he knew it. It felt like he was slowly being suffocated. If this kept up he'd have no choice but to seek medical attention before his throat closed up and he couldn't breathe.

A low moan escaped his lips, his eyes rolled back in his head, and moments later he was plunged into darkness as he collapsed to the forest floor.

His men found him a short while later, unconscious beneath a tall redwood tree. He was so groggy and disoriented when he came to that it wasn't hard for them to believe that he was drunk. The thickness of Scabior's speech and his slurred words added to the effect, convincing them that their leader was intoxicated.

While it wasn't a good situation to be in, nor did it paint a pretty picture with Scabior passed out in the dirt, the head Snatcher was glad that so far none of them seemed to suspect anything. Only his wife knew the truth. And he would hold out as long as he could before admitting to her that he was sick.

By the end of the week Scabior was absolutely miserable. He was now burning up with a fever. His head hurt, his ear ached, and he was beginning to drool into his own scarf. He couldn't swallow anything at all. A fact he tried to hide by frequently dabbing at the corner of his mouth with his scarf to soak up the excess of dribbling saliva.

Everything from drool soaked patches in his scarf, to Scabior's refusal to eat during mealtimes, indicated that something was wrong with him. There was no hiding it now. And Scabior, having had enough of pretending to be well, eventually retreated to his tent so he could lie down in bed and rest.

Scabior groaned, leaning back against his pillow in bed, one hand holding his aching head. He looked over and caught sight of himself in the mirror on the wall and frowned.

"I look like shit," he muttered.

He curled up on his side under the blankets, shivering and miserable. He wondered when all of this would go away and he would start feeling better again.

His wife was a healer, and he knew he could always ask her for help whenever he was ill. But he hated the thought of having to lower himself to asking someone for help. He preferred to suffer alone in silence, dealing with his problems on his own rather than going to someone for help. Because the one thing that was hardest for him to swallow was his pride.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Warning** \- this chapter contains detailed descriptions of illness and medical treatments. Reader discretion is advised._

When Scabior awoke from his nap some time later, the first thing he noticed was the large wet spot on his pillow that he was laying in. Apparently he had drooled all over his pillow in his sleep, something he never would have done if he were well. Both his cheek and neck were soaking wet with saliva. The clear fluid had dampened a portion of his pillow, dribbled into his hair and dripped onto his mattress.

Scabior was disgusted with himself. He slowly raised himself up on one elbow and wiped the saliva off his face with the back of his hand.

He was better than this. Scabior Jamari Fox did not slobber all over himself in his sleep. Perhaps it would damage his pride more to not go to his wife. Anything was better than swimming in his own drool.

He was spared having to call his wife into their bedroom when he looked up a second later to see Draconius enter the room.

"Pet," Scabior groaned as his wife approached the bed. "I don't feel so good..."

That much was obvious. Draconius had been observing him over the past week and knew that he was sick. But since Scabior rarely admitted when he was ill, and often refused treatment when it was offered to him, Draconius usually watched her husband and waited, knowing that there was little she could do until he was ready to admit that something was wrong and allow her to help.

She started to sit down on the edge of the bed beside him, but stopped when she noticed the damp spots on his pillow and bedsheets. "Scabior," she said at length. "Did you drool on your pillow in your sleep?"

Scabior tried to swallow as he felt the saliva building in the back of his throat. He felt ashamed of himself and what he'd done. Never before had he been reduced to this, and he hated her seeing him this way.

He turned away from her as a thin trail of warm saliva began to trickle from the corner of his mouth. "I don't know wha's wrong with me," he muttered thickly, straining against the pain and swelling in his throat to speak.

Draconius cupped Scabior's cheek in her hand and turned his head so that he was looking at her. One touch was all it took for her to realize that he was positively burning with fever.

"Look at me, Scabior," said Draconius.

Scabior didn't move. He sat perfectly still, letting his wife take in everything from the flushed features of his face to the saliva that dribbled down his chin.

Draconius studied him closely, noting the harsh, heavy sounds that came with his every breath. He was breathing through his mouth. And from the sounds of it he was having a difficult time doing so.

He was an absolute mess. In all the years that she had known him, Draconius had never seen her husband in such horrible shape.

She let her fingers move from his cheek to his forehead, feeling how hot he was beneath her touch. "Tell me what's wrong," she said. "I need to know what your symptoms are."

His mind a befuddled haze of pain and fever, Scabior found it difficult to properly articulate what was bothering him. And the fact that he was having difficulty speaking didn't exactly help.

He motioned with his hand towards the right side of his face. "Everyting 'urts," he said. "Just on this side."

His last few words came out as little more than a ragged whisper. He would have liked to have elaborated on his symptoms, explaining more fully to his wife what was wrong. But his voice was already beginning to fail him. And the pain he felt when speaking was enough to limit his speech to no more than a few words at a time.

Draconius placed her fingers on either side of Scabior's jaw, feeling down along his neck for signs of inflammation and swelling. Her examination revealed tender, swollen glands in his neck, as well as an inflamed mass down the right side of his neck directly below his jaw.

"Does your throat hurt?" she asked, withdrawing her wand from a pocket in her dress. Though she didn't really have to ask because the answer was easy enough to guess. She knew he was in pain. However she needed to know how much pain.

"Yes," Scabior replied. "Badly."

"How bad does it hurt?"

"I am in..." Scabior paused, trying and failing to swallow as more saliva dripped off his chin and onto the blankets. "A tremendous amount of pain," he finally managed to finish.

"It sounds to me like you have tonsillitis," said Draconius. "Though I'm a bit concerned that there may be something more to it than a simple throat infection. You're also dehydrated. I suspect you haven't been drinking any liquids for the last few days, have you?"

Scabior shook his head.

The young healer cast a spell that enabled her to check Scabior's temperature. Thin red whisps of smoke issued from the tip of her wand, forming the numbers 103° in the air above the ailing Snatcher. The numbers lingered for a few seconds before fading away into nothing. Draconius then sat down on the edge of the bed, lit the tip of her wand, and instructed Scabior to open his mouth so she could examine his throat.

Scabior tried to do as she said, but found that he could only open his mouth a few centimetres before an intense pain radiated out through his neck and jaw, paralyzing the nerves and muscles of his jaw with horrendous pain.

Draconius leaned over her husband, holding her wand aloft so the slender beam of light shone directly into Scabior's mouth. "Can you open your mouth a bit wider?" she asked. "I can hardly see anything."

Scabior uttered a low, pained groan from deep in the back of his throat as he tried to open his mouth wider. The pain was too intense. And after a few seconds he slumped against his pillow, clutching the right side of his head as a hoarse moan escaped his lips.

His wife recognized the signs of trismus when she saw them, and knew immediately that this was definitely more serious than a regular sore throat.

Draconius sighed. "You're in worse shape then I thought. Why didn't you come to me sooner?"

Scabior said nothing. He just looked at her, the expression on his face one of absolute misery as he held his aching head.

"Alright then, " said Draconius, sounding somewhat irritated. She was annoyed by the fact that her husband had put off getting treatment for so long, causing needless suffering and allowing his illness to progress to the point where complications had set in. "I can see that I'm going to have to help you with this."

Scabior looked a bit worried. What exactly did she mean by helping him with the examination? Was she going to imperio him into opening his mouth wider so she could get a better look at his throat?

His wife summoned a black bag from the dresser. Inside the bag were several packets of dried herbs, small bottles of brightly colored potions, and a few other items she used when treating and examining her patients.

She removed a tongue depressor from her bag. "Open up, Scabior. This time I'm going to get a look at what's going on in there."

Scabior felt relieved that she wasn't planning on using the imperius curse on him. But he honestly didn't see how this was going to help. He still wouldn't be able to open his mouth enough for her to examine him properly.

He opened his mouth, his wife telling him to stick out his tongue. He complied with her request and she slipped the tongue depressor into his mouth, pressing down gently on his tongue so she could get a better look at his throat.

Pain spiked through his jaw, and if he could he would have screamed. But Scabior only managed a faint whimper and a few harsh, strangled sounds as his wife relit the tip of her wand and shone the light into his mouth.

She peered into Scabior's mouth and saw that his tonsils were infected. White streaks coated the surface of his tonsils, and there was a great deal of redness and swelling in his throat. But even worse was the large abscess that had formed in the back of Scabior's throat next to his right tonsil.

Another cause for concern was the amount of swelling in Scabior's throat. His airway was constricted by the inflammation in his throat and tonsils. If left untreated, the swelling could completely obstruct his airway.

"Your tonsils look awful, Scabior. They're very red and swollen," said Draconius. "I honestly don't know how you can breathe. And given the shape you're in, you're lucky your throat hasn't closed off completely." She extinguished the light in her wand and sat up straight on the bed. "Are you having any trouble breathing?"

"A little," Scabior admitted. "My throat feels rather tight."

"Oh Scabior," Draconius sighed, her brow creasing with worry. There was a strong note of sympathy in her tone of voice.

"Wha?" Scabior said, trying to swallow as saliva continued to slowly trickle from the corner of his mouth. Her troubled expression worried him. "Wha's wrong with me?"

"You've developed a peritonsillar abscess on the right side of your throat," she said. "Quite possibly the largest I have ever seen. If you'd come to me sooner this could have been prevented with a potion or two. Now the only way I can treat it is by making an incision in the abscess in order to let it drain."

Scabior felt disgusted by the thought of having an abscess in his throat drained. He imagined the taste of blood and pus would be vile beyond belief. He also didn't fancy the thought of having his throat sliced open. But considering the amount of pain he was in, Scabior decided that long about now he didn't care anymore. He just wanted relief from the pain so he could start feeling better again.

"Fine then," he thickly slurred, already resigning himself to his fate. "Let's just do this an get it over with."


	3. Chapter 3

_**Warning **\- this chapter contains detailed descriptions of illness and medical treatments. Reader discretion is advised._

Before beginning the procedure, Draconius gave her husband a pain relieving potion that was the wizarding world equivalent of a local anesthetic.

"This will help dull the pain and numb the back of your throat. You need to gargle with that before I can begin. And believe me, Scabior, you're going to want to use that. Because this procedure can be rather painful."

"Couldn't be any worse than 'ow I already feel," Scabior muttered, accepting the bottle of pale lavender colored potion that she handed him.

"Use it anyway," she told him. "I will not begin treatment until you've taken something to numb your throat."

Scabior hesitated, looking at the bottle of lavender liquid in his hand. "You couldn't just give me this an something for the infection, could you?" he asked, straining his voice to speak.

His efforts to speak caused a searing pain to burn through the back of his throat. A few seconds later he was thrown into a sudden coughing fit, with pain knifing through his insides like jagged shards of broken glass.

"Scabior." Draconius folded her arms across her chest. Her patience with him was wearing thin. "Would you rather I knock you out with a sleeping potion, then remove your tonsils so you won't have to deal with this again?"

For a second Scabior's heart seemed to still in his chest. His eyes, which were now watering from the amount of pain he was in, grew as wide as dinner plates. He knew when she took that tone with him that she wasn't playing around.

"No," he rasped, barely able to speak. He held his burning throat and shook his head. "No, tha's fine. I'll use this."

His wife sighed and rolled her eyes. If he wasn't a sight, trying to talk his way out of having an operation when he could barely talk at all.

He uncorked the potion bottle, raising it to his lips and taking a sip. It tasted foul, like bubblegum and rotted fruit. Scabior put a hand over his mouth, fighting the urge to spit out the foul tasting concoction.

"You need more than that, Scabior," said Draconius. "And you need to rinse your throat with that potion a couple times before I can begin. Just using it once won't be enough to anesthetize the area."

It was at this point that he realized that none of this was going to be easy. The potion tasted terrible. And what followed certainly wasn't going to be a pleasant experience.

He reluctantly took a bigger sip of the potion and gargled with it, spitting the mixture out into a bucket his wife had placed beside the bed.

While he was preoccupied with this task, Draconius laid a towel across his pillow. And once he was finished gargling with the potion, his wife told him to lie down on his right side with his head resting on the towel.

Scabior lay down on his side, mentally preparing himself for what would happen next. His throat and jaw still hurt when he opened his mouth, though not quite as much since using the potion. It had been just enough to take the edge off some of his discomfort.

"Hold still, Scabior," said Draconius as she knelt down in front of him. "This will all be over in a few minutes."

Draconius relit the tip of her wand, letting the bright beam of light shine directly onto Scabior's throat. She took a moment to inspect the swollen mass beside his right tonsil. She then used a cutting hex to carefully make an incision in the abscess.

A thick, muffled cry of pain escaped Scabior's lips. The next thing he knew Scabior felt a warm gush of thick fluid oozing from the incision in his throat. The taste was so unimaginably putrid that he gagged, retching as pus and blood spilled out onto the towel beneath him.

Rolling over onto his belly and raising himself up several inches off the mattress, Scabior felt his stomach heave as he coughed and spit out a mouthful of the purulent matter that was still draining from the abscess. His throat felt like it was on fire with pain. And as the contractions in his stomach intensified, he vomited greenish watery bile onto the towel beneath him.

His wife tried her best to comfort him, rubbing his back and speaking softly as he continued to retch and vomit. She hated seeing him like this and wished she could do more to help ease his suffering. But aside from talking him through this, there was little she could do.

"You're alright, Scabior," she said, speaking gently as she tried to ease him through his pain. "That's it. Spit everything out. You're doing fine, honey."

With sweat dripping from his fevered brow and bloody pus dripping from his lips, Scabior collapsed onto his side, his entire body shaking with feverish chills as the last ounces of pus drained out onto the thick towel. Moments later he felt a damp washcloth brush against his cheek. He looked up at his wife, a low moan escaping his lips as she dabbed at a streak of blood on the side of his face.

"Shh, don't talk, sweetie," Draconius said. "You're alright. I just need to clean you up a bit."

"It 'urts..." Scabior whimpered. His eyes were bright with unshed tears, and there was blood running from the corner of his mouth as he spoke. "You said...you said the potion would numb my throat..."

"I said it would help dull the pain. I didn't say you wouldn't feel anything. The potion numbs the area enough that I can work on you without causing too much pain. But some pain is still felt during and after the procedure."

Draconius could have sworn she heard a faint sob, just moments before Scabior coughed and vomited a mixture of blood and watery bile onto the towel that was draped across his pillow.

Never in his life had he felt so low, so utterly wretched and miserable. He felt horrible beyond belief. And as illness and exhaustion finally began to overtake his tired body, Scabior's eyes closed as he began to drift off to sleep.

Draconius let her husband rest for a few minutes before making sure he hadn't fallen asleep on her. She knew he'd been through a lot, and wanted to give him a minute to recover before moving on to the next step in his treatment.

"Scabior," he heard his wife say as she gently nudged his shoulder. "Don't fall asleep just yet, sweetie. I know this must be an awful experience for you. But there's still more we have to do before you can rest."

Scabior moaned softly, his lashes lifting to reveal tired grey-blue eyes. He was completely spent. What else could there be left to do?

His wife slid the soiled towel out from under him, and promptly cast a cleansing charm on it to remove the foul substances that covered its surface. She then gently coaxed him into opening his mouth again, telling him that she needed to check the bleeding in his throat.

When his wife had finished her brief examination, she went to the medicine chest where she kept her potions. Scabior meanwhile had leaned over the side of the bed, and was trying to reach the box of tissues on the nightstand.

He groped around for a few seconds until he was able to reach the tissue box on the bottom shelf of the nightstand. The bleeding in his throat had slowed considerably, but was still trickling out along with the last of the purulent matter from the abscess.

Draconius removed three potion bottles from one of the compartments in the medicine chest. She brought them over to the bed, where Scabior was spitting blood out into a handful of tissues.

"How are you feeling?" Draconius asked.

"Tired," Scabior whispered hoarsely.

"Can you breathe better now?"

Scabior nodded.

"Good. I was concerned about the inflammation blocking your airway."

She set a bottle of amber colored potion on the nightstand. "In order for you to get better, you're going to have to rinse your throat with this potion. This should be done four times a day for the next three to four to days. You should do this now since the abscess has been opened to clean out the incision."

Scabior watched as she sat two more bottles on the nightstand. Apparently he was going to need a lot of potions in order to recover from this horrid illness.

Drawing on the last ounces of his inner reserves of strength, Scabior managed to slowly ease himself into a sitting position in bed, leaning heavily against the pillows and the headboard. He rinsed his throat with the potion, wincing at the painful sting of the liquid against the open incision in his throat.

"You also need to drink this," said Draconius, handing him a bottle containing a light green potion. This potion was the wizarding world equivalent of an antibiotic to combat Scabior's throat infection. "This will help clear up the infection. It might not be easy to swallow anything right now, but you'll need to take this potion twice a day for the next seven to ten days."

Scabior looked doubtfully at the bottle of pale green potion. His throat didn't hurt as much since the abscess had been drained. But he was still in a lot of pain, and he wasn't sure if he would be able to swallow anything just yet.

"Come on, sweetie," Draconius said, trying to encourage her husband to take the potion. "You can do this. Just take a few small sips."

Raising the bottle to his lips, Scabior took a small sip of the potion and managed, after two or three tries, to swallow the soothing green liquid. The potion coated the inflamed areas of his throat and felt good against the sore, sensitive tissues. He took a few more sips of the potion until his wife was satisfied that he had drank enough of it.

The last potion, which was a deep sapphire blue color, was a fever reducing potion to help lower Scabior's temperature. This too he managed to drink in small sips until he had consumed a full dose of the potion.

Lying back in bed with a tired sigh, Scabior could finally relax and get some rest now that the worst was behind him. His wife covered him with a blanket and placed a cool washcloth on his forehead.

"Rest, Scabior," she said. "Your throat is going to be very sore for the next few days. But given enough time and proper care you'll start to feel better soon. For now you should get some sleep."

As tired as he was it would not take long for Scabior to fall asleep. He closed his eyes, and within a few minutes he was sound asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Scabior stayed in bed and slept for the next several days. He was ill and exhausted. And for the first time in his life all he wanted to do was sleep. This made it very easy for his wife to care for him during his recovery. All she had to do was wake him up every now and then so he could take his potions, rinse his throat, and drink some chicken broth at mealtimes.

As he began the recovery process, Draconius had Scabior drinking plenty of water and warm fluids, such as soup and herbal tea. She told him that this, combined with the potion he used to rinse his throat, helped to clean the infection out and heal the tissues of his throat.

At first Scabior refused to drink anything other than the potions he needed to get better. His throat was still very sore, and he couldn't tolerate swallowing anything unless he absolutely had to.

His wife knew that he was dehydrated from not drinking enough, and it was important that he replenish the fluids he'd lost. But trying to get him to swallow anything was a challenge. Draconius eventually had to give him a pain relieving potion before he would even attempt to drink anything.

She added the pain reliever to the list of daily potions he was taking. Managing pain, controlling his fever, and making sure he drank enough liquids was Draconius' main focus. As long as she could keep him comfortable enough that he could eat and rest, he would be just fine in a couple of days.

While he was resting, Draconius worked to brew another batch of the potions Scabior was taking. The potion for his throat infection was in short supply. Draconius only had enough of it to last through the first three days of his treatment. Fortunately the potion was easy to make. And she already had everything on hand that she needed to make it.

Before long the aroma of the potion she was brewing began wafting out the flap in Scabior's tent, drawing the attention of one of the more curious Snatchers, who entered the tent to see where the smell was coming from.

It was Isaac who entered the tent. He saw Scabior, asleep in bed with a damp washcloth on his forehead. Draconius was nearby tending to the potion she was brewing.

"Mrs. Rose?" Isaac said as he walked into the tent.

Scabior shifted slightly in bed, murmuring softly under his breath as he slept.

"Shh, lower your voice," Draconius cautioned. "Scabior's sleeping, and I don't want you to wake him up."

"Right. Sorry," Isaac apologized.

"It's alright. And please, call me Draconius. You don't have to call me Mrs. Rose just because I'm married to your boss."

Isaac walked over to the caldron Draconius was stirring and looked down at the softly simmering pale green potion. "What're you making?" he asked.

"It's a potion is for Scabior," Draconius said. "He's very sick, and he needs this to help him get better."

"Scabior's sick?" Isaac glanced back over his shoulder at the sleeping form of his master lying in bed. "What's wrong with him?"

"He has tonsillitis. A rather severe case of it, too. I had to drain an abscess in his throat because complications had set in."

"Eww..." Isaac wrinkled his nose in disgust. "He will be okay, right?"

"Yes, Isaac. Scabior will be fine. I've got him taking a high dose of anti-infection potion, as well as something to reduce his fever. The next few days are going to be rough. But by the end of the week he should be feeling much better."

.oOo.

It was late. The moon shown high above the forest canopy, shining its gentle light down on the cluster of tents set up on the forest floor below. Frogs could be heard croaking in a nearby stream as crickets sung their song to the night.

Scabior was awake even though it was nearly midnight. He awoke when the pain relieving potion he'd taken had worn off, causing the burning sensation in his throat to return with a vengeance.

Draconius was quick to notice his distress, and administered another dose of the pain relieving potion. They then had to wait for the potion to take effect so Scabior could go back to sleep.

While they waited, Draconius sat on the bed beside him, speaking softly to him as she tried to take his mind off the pain he was in. She smoothed the damp strands of hair out of his face, his tangled locks wet with a combination of perspiration and water that had dripped into his hair from the washcloth on his forehead.

"Look at you," she said. "Your face is as red as the streak in your hair. I'd better take your temperature."

Scabior said nothing as she drew her wand and waved it over him in a slow, circular motion. The red whisps of smoke that issued from the tip of her wand told her that his fever was still rather high.

"One hundred and two," she said. "I should give you more of the fever reducer as well. We need to get this under control so you can rest."

She handed him the bottle of sapphire blue potion. And after struggling for a second to force the liquid down his throat, Scabior managed to swallow the potion before handing the bottle back to her.

"You know I love you, Scabior," said Draconius. "There's a reason why I tell you to come to me when you aren't feeling well. It's to prevent something like this from happening, where things get out of hand and you wind up suffering and miserable."

Scabior looked up at her, listening as she spoke. His eyes were half closed, and he was beginning to drool again since the renewed pain made it difficult to swallow.

Draconius took a tissue from the box on the nightstand and gently wiped the saliva off her husband's chin. As a sign of how bad he felt Scabior didn't try pulling away from her. Normally whenever she fussed over him he would move away, dodging her attempts to care for him.

But tonight Scabior didn't care. He felt positively wretched and no longer had the energy or the desire to fight. And in his current condition, he didn't think it very wise to try getting away from the only person he had who could make him feel better.

"Scabior," she said, looking a bit surprised by his lack of reaction. "You're really out of it, aren't you? You're not yourself tonight, sweetie."

He blinked his tired eyes, quietly watching and listening to her without comment.

"My poor foxy. You've been through so much these last couple of days. I know it hurts, but you'll feel better soon. I promise."

She removed the washcloth that was draped across his forehead and refreshed it in the bowl on the nightstand. She wrung the excess water out of the washcloth, folded it in half, then placed it back on Scabior's forehead.

Scabior sighed and closed his eyes. He could feel the potions starting to take effect. And within a few minutes he was sound asleep.

.oOo.

Draconius was right about the first few days of his recovery being rough. He was still in a lot of pain. And if it weren't for the pain relieving potion his wife gave him, Scabior wouldn't be able to drink or tolerate swallowing soup at mealtimes.

By the third day the symptoms of the abscess had gone away, relieving much of his pain and making it easier for him to drink and swallow.

By the fifth day Scabior's health had greatly improved. Although he couldn't tolerate anything other than liquids and soup, he was eating more and feeling much better. He continued to run a low grade fever, and his throat was still sore. But overall he was in much better shape than he had been a couple days ago.

After a week of bed rest and potions, Scabior was well on his way to making a full recovery. His temperature had returned to normal, and he was beginning a diet of soft foods as his throat continued to heal.

Draconius sat down on the edge of the bed, her wand lit as she checked her husband's throat to see how his recovery was progressing.

She inspected the drainage site carefully to rule out reaccumulation of pus. There was no indication that the abscess was trying to return, which was a welcome relief to both her and her husband.

"You're looking much better this morning, Scabior," Draconius said when she had finished her examination. "I'm going to have you continue taking the anti-infection potion for another three days to clear up the last of the infection."

"I don't ever want to go through anything like tha ever again," said Scabior. "I've never been so sick in my entire life."

"Well, hopefully you've learned your lesson, Scabior. This could have been prevented if you'd come to me when you first started getting sick."

"I still don't like it, pet. I don't like the thought of being cared for like I'm some weakling who's incapable of taking care of myself."

"Scabior," Draconius' tone carried with it a strong hint of warning in her voice, "what you had was a very serious infection. The swelling in your throat was so severe it was blocking your airway. You need to start taking better care of yourself and allowing me to help you when you're sick. Otherwise, the next time you come down with an infection like that, you're going to have to have your tonsils removed."

There was a long drawn out pause as Scabior looked at her in disbelief. "No. No, you can't be serious," he said at length, thinking perhaps he'd heard wrong. "I've only gotten sick one time - "

"You're lying," said Draconius, cutting him off in mid-sentence. "You've had tonsillitis twice this year. You think I don't notice when you can barely speak, and live off liquids because you can't swallow solid foods? Your men might not see your illness for what it is, but I do."

"It's not tha bad," Scabior insisted.

"Then why were you just telling me that you never want to go through that again?"

Scabior appeared to wilt under her gaze. He was unable to think of a response to her question. He'd gotten so used to his tonsils always being a problem that he never considered having them removed. However, this most recent infection was the worst he'd ever experienced. It was enough to make him rethink his options.

"You don't have to go through that again, Scabior," said Draconius, her tone becoming more gentle as she spoke to him. "You've been showing signs that your tonsils need to come out. By rights you should have them out in a few weeks once you're fully recovered."

"No, I don't want to go tha route. I'm keeping them. Even if it means being fussed over like some child every time I'm ill," said Scabior.

By now Scabior was tiring of this conversation. He'd heard enough lectures about his health for one day, and he was still feeling a bit run down from days of battling his illness.

"I'm really tired, pet," said Scabior. "I want to go to bed."

Draconius sighed. She wasn't pleased with his decision to not have the operation. She knew this meant that he was likely to keep getting sick with recurring throat infections. However, he was now willing to accept treatment for his illness, instead of refusing it until the last second when he could hardly breathe or speak.

It wouldn't be difficult for her to manage his condition. With any luck, Scabior might not have to suffer through such a severe infection again, regardless of whether or not he chose to have surgery by magical means.

Scabior snuggled under his blankets, making himself comfortable as he prepared to go to sleep. His wife brushed aside several long strands of his wild and unruly hair, leaned forward, and placed a kiss on his cheek.

A smile creased the corners of his mouth as his eyes began to close. He was thankful for her care and attentiveness, and for all the love she had shown him. Scabior realized that he never should have pushed her away, refusing treatment when she was the only one he had that truly cared about him. Any healer could take care of him when he was sick. But only Draconius did it with love.


End file.
